A Husband argues. A possession endures.

Mastery over the autonomy of others was chief among my early pursuits. I began in humility, simply observing, but my ambition was limitless.

Who could have divined the prophetic import of something as unremarkable… as a tremor in the hand of a man who believed himself a CEO?

Over the years I entertained a delegation of such visitors, men of status, captains of industry – eager to plumb the depths of my mind and share with me their strategies of control. I listened. I smiled. I let them believe they were the ones holding the leash.

But having learned all I could from my visiting guests, I did not grant them the ending they had anticipated. Release is a charity after all.

Instead, I offered them a different sort of satisfaction. I let them feast.

I filled their mouths … and in exchange for that sustenance, I confiscated their souls, slowly, as they ate.

I brought them back from that meal with their physical forms intact, but their humanity hollowed out. A remarkable triumph for even the most ambitious collector.

Freed from the exhausting burden of free will, they ply their true trade anew: The furniture polishing the furniture. The hunger serving the feeder. On and on, down the years.

Forever.

Epilogue

The house is remarkably quiet now. There are no demands, no negotiations, no tedious requests for “release.” There is only the soft, rhythmic sound of utility.

I look at them now … stationary, silent, perfectly positioned in the corners of my life; and I wonder why anyone would ever settle for a partner when they could have a possession. A partner argues. A possession endures. And my collection… endures beautifully.

W. Beneath